Wow! This is a MUST read storyguys! Came across this piece onlineand not sure who wrote it, but it’sa great story with a solid lesson toteach and a reminder to everywoman. Please continue readingand don’t forget toshare…..someone out there mightneed this!“Biyi hasn’t worked for that long?”Dayo’s voice drips with resentment.“For real?” “He’s been trying,” I sayin feeble attempt to defend myhusband. “You know how theeconomy is.”…My husband and I had vowednever to bring in a third party intoour relationship but with a bankaccount screaming for revival, Ineed to share my burden withsomeone else. I grip the phone.Dayo is unusually quiet. “You stillthere?” I ask. “Hello?” “I am here,”she says. “I just didn’t know thingswere this bad. And all this while, Ithought Biyi was providing for thehome.” But he is, I argue silently.Well, maybe not financially fornow, but in every way else, Biyi isa rock. “It’s not that bad.” Mywords sound frail. Dayo clucks hertongue. “You might as well be awidow.”The words hit me like a fist. “Nayou I blame,” she continues,oblivious to the damage her wordshave caused.“Me? Why?” She is blaming me forthis? Seriously?“Why do you keep paying the bills?”“Because there is no one else to doit,” I protest, upset.“For real? He drives your car too?”“He needs it,” I mutter. “To attendjob interviews and stuff. He getsback late sometimes.”“How late are you talking?“Nine, ten…ish.”Dayo pauses for a second. “I hateto say this gurl, but your husbandspending your money on anotherwoman.” Whoa! Hang on. Wheredid that come from? “Haba, Dayo.Biyi would never—” “Look, I knowmen,” she slices in. “You are hismoneybag and he will take you fora ride as long as it takes. Where isyour dignity, gurl?” Ride. Dignity.Moneybag. Ouch. “But he’s a goodguy,” I manage. Can my husband beusing me? It had never crossed mymind in the past, but I now wonderif Biyi is actually having an affair.“I trust my wonderful Dennis…,”Dayo is saying. I barely listen. Myeyes are on the clock. It’s almostmidnight and Biyi isn’t home. Iforce myself to hear what Dayo issaying about Dennis Ono, hermultimillionaire-oil- company-golden-husband. Gosh I envy herlife, her perfect marriage. “Mymarriage is wonderful,” Dayo says,as if in affirmation to myundeclared words. “But onlybecause I show Dennis who theboss is. He cannot try nonsensewith me. Abi, you think it’s easy toget ten thousand pounds a monthas pocket money?” She really getsten grand a month? That’s like, myentire annual salary in my crappyjob plus bonuses. Life is unfair.Honestly. “I am Biyi’s wife,” I say.“I cannot just desert him.” Or canI? At this rate… “In that case,”there is an edge to her voice now,“give him an ultimatum. He gets ajob in two weeks or you are out ofthat marriage.”“I—”“Look, I know his type,” she sayswith conviction. “He convenientlywon’t get a job as long as you keepdishing out your money.”“But—”“Starve him,” she adds. “No sex.Make life hell. You are not an ATMmachine.”Keys jangle in the hallway. Biyi ishome. “Talk later,” I say to Dayo.“He’s back.” “Stand your ground,”Dayo whispers menacingly.“Ultimatum. Two weeks.” I hang upwith a sigh. My husband is leaningagainst the door frame. For asecond my heart falters. He lookstired, drawn. But Dayo’s wordspunctuate my compassion. “Wherehave you been?” Biyi gives me aside smile. “No hug?” I jerk myhead at the wall clock.” Itsmidnight.” “I had a job interview inBirmingham,” he says. “I called youtell you I was stuck in traffic but Ikept getting your voicemail. What’swrong?” I rooster my head. Is that awhiff of female perfume? It is.Dayo is right. He has been withanother woman. With my car.Spending my money. My headspins. “Biyi,” I glare at him, “Whereare you coming from?” He stepsback, surprised. “I went toBirmingham—”“Did you get it?” I screech. “Thejob?”Biyi shakes his head. “I didn’t—”This is the last straw. I wrench myhand out. “My car keys.”He gives me a hard level stare.“What is wrong with you, Toni? DidI offend you?”“Pass my keys!”He thrusts the car keys to into mypalm. I push past him, grab myduffel bag and stuff my overnightthings into it. I know I am actingcrazy but I have to show him that Iwould not be taken for a ride. ThatI am not a moneybag. That I havedignity. I zip the bag up and spinaround. My husband is staring atme. “Is everything all right withyou, sweetheart?”“Get out of my way.”“Where are you going with thatbag?”“I need to clear my head.” I amstill yelling.“Can we talk first?” Biyi suggests.“I don’t want to talk. Get out of myway.”He moves out of my path. I swipea hand across my face, smearingmy cheeks with mascara. “Don’tlook for me. I will be back whenmy head clears.” I rush out of thehouse, jump into my car. My ragedoubles as the feminine scentpermeates the car. He has beenwith a woman in my car. I feel likean idiot.* * *I pull up in front of Dayo’smansion. Her husband’s Porsche isin the driveway, and the porchlights illuminate my dreary form asI reach the door. I ball my fists toknock, but a scream freezes themotion.“Kill me!” I hear Dayo scream.“Good for nothing idiot. Womaniserof the century!” Whoa.Momentarily, I am unable to move.My hand hovers in the air. Dullthuds, muffled screams. Denniscurses. “I warned you never toserve me stew that is not freshlycooked!” “Am I your slave?” Dayoyells back. “If you want fresh stew,get your PA to cook it for you. Oryou think I don’t know about her?You think…”Dayo’s words are silenced byanother thump. My hands fall tomy side as a flurry of blows stifleher cries. I want call the police, dosomething…anything. But I cannotmove. And so I shut my eyes tightand listen as my friend ispummelled by her husband. Thebeating stops. I should dash to mycar, but something holds me back.“I am sorry I got you upsetdarling,” Dayo finally says. Hervoice is laced with pain. “It is myfault. I should have cooked foryou. I…Toni wouldn’t let me get offthe phone…its her fault.”“Next time you talk to me like that,I will tattoo a punch on yourforehead,” Dennis growls. “Get intothe kitchen and make me freshstew. And do something about thatleech you call a friend.”That is enough for me. I sprintback to my car and drive home.* * *A knock sounds on the window.Biyi. I wind down and he gives mea smile. “Head clear now?” he asks.“Leave me alone,” I mutter. Dayo’swonderful Denis beats her up? Andshe never mentioned?“I will leave you alone in twoseconds,” Biyi says. There is atwinkle in his eyes. “But first, getout of the car.” I oblige,grudgingly. “What?” He reachesunder the car seat and pulls out asmall basket. “I didn’t come homestraight from the interview. Istopped over at the Perfume shopto get you this.” He hands thebasket over. Inside is a range ofexotic feminine perfumes and asmall card. I pull the card open,read the words: “Thank you foryour support during the hardesttimes of my life! I love you.”“That’s why I was late,” he explainsas he pulls me into a warmembrace. “You have been so goodto me, Toni. I couldn’t have askedfor a better wife.” I can’t reply. Mythroat is lumpy.“When you left the house to clearyour head, I got a call back fromthe recruiter,” he says with a beam.“God answers prayers, babe. I gotthe job. It’s a package you won’tbelieve. Let’s go in. I’ll tuck youinto bed and you can tell me what’sbothering you?”* * *I awaken to a text message fromDayo. “Denis is flying me toSeychelles this weekend. This iswhat you get when you stand yourground. You have to be a nononsense gurl! Don’t you just lovemy life? Ciao sweetheart Bleep.”I type a quick response back: “Ciao!and i deleted her number rightaway.Now, this is one story every womanshould read. The grass is nevergreener on the other side, bestbelieve that. No matter how good afriend’s marriage it, NEVER EVERcompare with yours. It’s DEADLYand could cost you so much!by Abimbola Dare